


touch a hundred flowers

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics), Star Wars: Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Sleep Deprivation, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: All her dreams start the same. There are stars, and she is never fast enough.
Relationships: Suralinda Javos/Jessika Pava
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	touch a hundred flowers

**Author's Note:**

> The dearth of woobie!Jessika Pava in fics astounds me, because you guys, _her canon backstory_. Here's my contribution, even though I'm probably one of a handful of people who care, but. Might as well.
> 
> Timeline notes: The beginning jumps around a bit, but mainly this is set sometime after Star Wars Allegiance, but before Galaxy's Edge. And before later episodes of Star Wars Resistance S2.

All her dreams start the same. There are stars, and she is never fast enough.

* * *

Snap keeps jaqhad leaf-chew in his X-wing – _for emergencies_ , he says, _just in case_. Jess gets in the habit of taking some when she modifies her ship overnight, rolling the dried flower petals between her tongue and teeth as she adjusts stabilizers here, tweaks hydraulics there. There are deep valleys of dark circles beneath her eyelids the next morning, but these days, she’s mostly got her helmet on when flying for missions, so no one notices.

* * *

They all have memories of home. Poe mentions his farm boy days growing up on Yavin 4 – Snap visits Akiva and comes back good-naturedly grumbling about his recently retired parents – Karé misses her dad’s homecooked grala stew – L’ulo teaches them some choice swear words in Durese.

Jess doesn’t remember Dandor well, only that it’s very blue and very green, and she had loved flying even then, a little girl zooming over water on an airspeeder.

After the Hosnian cataclysm, Zari says, tears on her face – _they’re all gone, my mom and my brother and everything else_ – and Jess hugs her tightly, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

And then Jess tells her that she knows what it’s like to not have a home or a family. She tells her that she knows what it’s like to hate the First Order with a hatred that burns and devours.

Zari is the first person she tells, but it doesn’t count for anything much, because when Poe explains the loss of the _Raddus_ and the rest of the fleet, Jess knows: Zari’s with her family now.

* * *

It gets worse once the Resistance establishes a base on Anoat. She runs herself ragged on missions - escorting supply runs for food, bacta, weapons - blasting TIEs out of the sky and counting her heartbeats in between the roar of the engines. Nights, she sucks on jaqhad, coming up with endless ways to modify her X-wing.  
  
Eventually, upon returning from a recruiting mission, Snap and Karé catch her.  
  
"Jess, you need to sleep," Karé says, her brow a worried furrow.  
  
"I do," Jess says, because she does, eventually, slumping against the durasteel wings with her hydrospanner in one hand and leftover flower petals scattered across her other palm.  
  
Snap says, "This stuff isn't meant for long-term use. It's an Akivan plant ancient warriors used to stay awake and alert while hunting or doing old rituals. It's five times stronger than caf, and once, it wrecked hell on my mom's sleeping cycle--"  
  
"Nothing's changed," Jess insists. "Yesterday, I flew into First Order space and got in, got out. I'm fast, Snap. I'm always fast."  
  
"Of course you are," Snap says. "But you're going to burn out at this rate. You don't need to push yourself so hard."  
  
"The Resistance needs pilots. That's your whole pitch to recruits, isn't it? I'm a pilot. Let me fly and let me fix."  
  
At that, Snap and Karé exchange wordless glances. It annoys Jess, sometimes, the unspoken way that they communicate as a couple.  
  
"Listen, Pava," Karé says, "the Resistance needs you, but we don't need you tired and sleep-deprived. Go to bed. No arguments. I'm going to tell Poe to officially ground you until you get some rest. I'm pretty sure he'll agree. Frankly, he's an idiot for not noticing, but things have been crazy here."  
  
"Karé--"  
  
"I'm a rank higher than you," Karé reminds her, gently. "That's an order."  
  
To her surprise, they steer her to one of the transports used for shuttling recruits -- not the air filtered tents that the Resistance are using as barracks -- pointing her to a cabin with a proper bed instead of a cot.  
  
"We're requisitioning this," Snap says, when Jess gives him an incredulous look. "Can't exactly send you on proper shore leave, but it's the best we can do."  
  
And it's then when Jess' face crumples. "I don't want to sleep, Karé, Tem, you don't know what I see-- it's just. Bad memories."  
  
It's hard, it's always hard, it's getting harder, especially with the Resistance on the run and their ranks depleted. Zari's gone, Joph's gone, Tallie's gone.  
  
Even the famous hero of the old war that she had idolized. Luke Skywalker. Here's a guy from a backwater Hutt-ran planet whose family’s death was caused by the Empire. Yet nevertheless, he intercepted Leia's droid, delivered the Death Star plans, and helped destroy the planet-killer with his legendary flying skills. And on top of that, he was a Jedi.

He’s dead now like the rest of them. At least, according to Poe, he went out with a bang.  
  
Jess has always wanted to be like Luke. She really does. But she can't even keep an astromech intact, and there’s too much anger in her to be a functioning Jedi, not like she has the Force, anyway.

And it haunts her, the fact that wherever the Resistance goes, the First Order dogs them like a persistent gundark, leaving destruction in its tracks. Tah’Nuhna and Fondor and Mon Cala, and more, so many more. She wonders how many kids will be like her in the end, sleepless and seething.

Snap sighs, puts his hand on her shoulder. “You think I don’t have nightmares, too? Of course I do – we all do – and it’s never easy.”

“I see them,” Karé says, “Muran and L’ulo and all the rest— but you need some shut-eye, and we’ll be here, Jess, I promise you. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

I see my parents and my sister, Jess almost says. I tell them: I wish I could have saved you. But it’s caught in her throat, this history that made her a _thing_ , an _object_ , a _commodity_ , less valuable than a power converter. You’re just a little shipyard rat with clever fingers putting things together; you’re not a person who can jump across galaxies.

She lets her friends guide her onto the bunk and underneath the covers. Her head is a dizzy daze – truthfully, she’s been in a haze for weeks. She feels like somebody’s shifted the gravity in her head. She feels like she’s choking on flowers. 

It starts again: the stars, and never fast enough.

* * *

She drifts in and out of consciousness. At times, she wakes up gasping, and Karé is here, touching her forehead, holding her hand. Or Snap is here, saying, “It’s just a dream, Jess, you’re safe,” coaxing her to drink water and eat a ration bar. Or she hears Poe, apologizing, guilty – telling her to take it easy, if only they had a doc and a working medbay – and Jess wants to grab him by the collar of his flightsuit and tell him they’re on a polluted godsdamned planet in the middle of karking nowhere – but she never manages it.

Once she wakes up, and she catches a glimpse of Snap playing his valachord in the neighboring cabin of the ship, a gentle kind of lullaby about a sky of shining stars and caterwauling ateles. Karé is watching, listening, her head on his shoulder while his fingers dart, and Jess sighs, and sleeps.

* * *

When she’s recovered and back in action, she checks her commlink and it flashes, a holocall from Suralinda. Sura – it’s been a while since Jess saw her, since she’s off doing diplomatic political things with Ransolm Casterfo, Rose Tico, and Charth Brethen, last Jess heard.

“Pava!” Suralinda exclaims. “I hope you’re holding up well!” 

“I’m doing fine,” Jess says, cutting her off. She’s not in the mood for pity or sympathy.

“Poe said—”

Jess snorts. “I thought you were a serious reporter, not a gossip columnist. Where have you been, anyway?”

“Loads of planets,” Suralinda says, thankfully willing to let the subject of Jess’ health slide and chat about her work. “Mostly trying to poke at any remaining contacts of Organa’s, Casterfo’s, and Charth’s late dad. It’s tough work, y’know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Suralinda confirms. “Politicians, leaders, activists – a lot of them are squeamish about taking any firm stance against the First Order and sending us resources. It sucks, Jess, it really does. They’re scared.”

“After what happened to Mon Cala, I don’t exactly blame them,” Jess says. “I hope you’ve got a powerful enough story to convince them.”

“We try,” Suralinda says. “Casterfo’s still got that politician silvertongue, even after all those years in imprisonment. And Tico’s one of those earnest passionate types – it’s personal to her, because of what the Order did to her home system. You should’ve heard her chew out the king of Orshel, and then she showed off her engineering skills improving their palace's shields. As for me, I’ve got this whole holo-presentation put together, telling them they can’t sit this fight out—”

Suralinda tells her as Jess sits outside on Anoat, filtration mask on, toxic fogged sky wheeling above her.

* * *

There are more missions: flying alongside Snap and Karé on a recruiting trip to Naboo, tagging along with Jade Squadron to knock out a First Order communications tower, exchanging quips with Shriv Suurgav and Zay Versio as they accompany Teza Nasz to hunt down ex-Imperial buddies of hers who might be open to joining.

Sometimes, things are good: Coming back triumphantly with fresh blood, eager wide-eyed pilot kids that Jess shows off flight maneuvers to. Weekly games of sabacc. Laughing as Poe struggles with porgs trying to make a nest in his hair.

Suralinda calls from time to time, showing Jess the stories that she’s been writing, to be published on the HoloNet for all to read. Jess thinks it’s huttwash at first, but she admits that Suralinda writes well. They’re stories of hope and resistance across the galaxy, the courageous people that Suralinda’s met and encountered, reminding and reminding: _You’re not alone. Fight back. Fight back. In all the ways that you can and all the ways that matter._

Sometimes, things aren’t so good. Her mission with Jade Squadron results in nearly all its members getting killed. That makes the nightmares return more than ever, the dark circles under her eyes like spiraling black holes as her sleep is disturbed and disrupted, but she pushes through, pushes through.

* * *

After a particularly bad night, she calls Suralinda, sitting somewhere in the ruins of Anoat with her legs pulled up against her chest. Suralinda must’ve been sleeping, too, her braids undone, hair cascading down her shoulders, but she answers.

Bit by bit, Jess tells Suralinda about Jade Squadron. “I didn’t think it could go wrong so quickly. Jade Leader got out alright – she’s a rebel vet from the war, stubborn as a bloodworm. I have no idea how she keeps going, honestly. The Empire and then _this._ ”

“We rebels are made of durasteel,” Suralinda says, flashing her a wry fanged smile. “You’re a stubborn survivor, too, Jess.”

Jess shrugs. “For this long, at least.”

“Make sure to get some rest, alright?” Suralinda says it gently.

“Sura, you’re not my CO."

“Are we ever gonna talk about what happened on Rattatak?”

That makes Jess start, blinking. “That wasn’t anything. That was just—”

A moment of adrenaline, a burst of spontaneity. She and Suralinda had fought against Nasz’s deathpit warriors and won, and Nasz had agreed to help the Resistance, going off to stock up on some vibro-weapons, leaving them both alone.

And Jess hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t been thinking at all, pinning Suralinda against her X-wing, soft human mouth against sharp teeth and twisting tongue. Suralinda had hissed when Jess dug her fingers against Sura’s waist in her flight suit, her keen amber eyes flickering and hips canting, and it was good, it was great, wet and warm and quick and dirty.

“Go to sleep, Jess,” Suralinda says, giving her that loth-cat grin again. “And dream of _that._ ”

Jess feels her cheeks flush. She’s not remembering the way Sura had shuddered against her, and how her blue skin had felt several degrees cooler than Jess’. “Shut up, Javos.” They had agreed that it was only a brief _thing_ , and anyways, Suralinda was hanging off Charth Brethen’s arm for the mission to Coronet City.

She doesn’t realize that she’s said it out loud when Suralinda makes an incredulous noise. “Me and Charth? Mother of Moons, no. I was only pretending to be his plus-one for the party. Nothing going on, not then, not now. Not like Poe and that ex-stormtrooper of his.”

Jess coughs. “Poe and Finn aren’t—”

“Aww, he’s still pining like a Chadrilan pine tree?” Suralinda asks, fondness in her voice. “I almost wish I was there to see it in person.”

“Remember what I was saying about you being a lousy gossip columnist, Sura."

Suralinda laughs. “Let me have my fun, Jess. Could be worse. I haven’t told you yet about the night me and the rest of the diplomacy gang got smashed on some amazing Andoan wine, and Casterfo wistfully waxed poetic about our brave general’s graceful beauty—”

That’s horrifying, disrespectful, and slanderous, and Jess is pretty sure that warrants an official reprimand, holy stars. “What the kriff, _I hate you_. _No._ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Suralinda says gleefully.

Jess puts her hand against her forehead, but she’s laughing as Suralinda recounts the misadventures and mishaps that she and her team have been getting into.

And when she eventually manages to sleep, maybe she does dream of Suralinda, a little. 

* * *

Later, Pacara, the new Resistance base, Jess and Suralinda lay curled on Jess’ bunk.

Suralinda traces the scars on Jess’ back with her cool blue fingers. “Are you ever gonna tell me your story, Pava?”

“Maybe one day,” she says, but for now, she rolls over and kisses her.

Tomorrow will bring new battles to be fought, new stories to be told, new alliances to be forged, and new systems to be explored. The war isn’t over yet, but someday, Jess thinks, it will be.


End file.
